Rippy, Stab, R.I.P, R.I.P. (Disturbing Song of the Dead)

Blood, blood, blood.
Dead bodies falling from the sky.
Knives and razors: Hear my cry.
Fake lives behind your nasty lying eyes.
The scars are broken,
Red is drawn.
Splash the walls,
Darken my eyes.

These decieving looks,
They give you.
Misunderstood.
Outspoken.

Let the blood drain.
Feel my pain.
Bodies in the floorboards.
Bodies in my bed.
Their souls come crashing,
Haunting me.

Lifeless faces filled with dread and horror.
Their screams of terror,
Are what keep me alive.
Let this knife sink deeper,
Bring me to an end.

The eyeliner running down my cheeks.
The tears fall one by one.
Endlessy crashing.

I hear the shotgun "Bang!"
Falling to the floor.
Murder-stricken allies,
Aren't for me anymore.

I sit here in the dark,
Slit my wrists and throat.
My black eyes show no pain.
My heart has no hope.

I see nothing through the night.
But hear the shrieks of the dead.
Saying "Come to us,
Seek our blood."

But I will stay in this walking dead I live.

Surrounded by these Hollywood stars and fakes.
Nothing to become of me,
I continue in the shadows.

Hidden by the bodies,
That have cried out.
Their tears of bood,
That wash away.
Forming rivers for the dead,
And my sanctuary.

Bathing in the agony,
And suffering of ones in which I knew.
My home is like a cemetery.
For the living.
(Or not so much.)

Crying an bleeding,
Sitting by the grave,
The moon and I are aquainted,
With the ones who've gone away.

Until we meet again.